some day is different from
someday. I don’t know how. Both are just as
abstract, deferring responsibility
.
I will do better tomorrow
I will love you better some day,
someday when I no longer want to
.
I did not cram for my biology exam
thoughts escaped me like particles
through protein channels, passive
.
transport of care, of time
I probably could have done better
but I was saving improvement for
.
tomorrow. I can’t think why osmolarity
matters. 9 grams of salt in
saline solution, to which I said
.
that’s 9 grapes. My love argued this
comparison extensively until I yielded,
said grapes have grown in the past years
.
agriculture technology, genetic
alterations. Things are not the same
from when I was a sophomore in high school
.
I almost didn’t come. Cut my knuckles on ice
trying to clear my windshield in a hurry
I choked on water, mouth dry, fingers rigid
.
with cold. On the drive over, I told myself
You will not cry. I said, I am feeling
sadness, apprehension, worry. If
.
I said it out loud, it made me less
crazy. I almost didn’t come. I said,
That flutter in my stomach just now
.
was hope and expectation, two things
I will acknowledge only for the sake
of consistency. Then be rid of me
.
I did not cram for my biology exam
instead, I had more important things
to attend. Found him on the futon
.
stomach tender with pain. Stared
him in the eyes after I said all I had
to say. I turned and walked away
.
Dr. Phil once said, We teach people
how to treat us (a quote I only know
from my one-time therapist). So maybe
.
I taught him to walk all over me, digging
heels in for extra measure. I thought
I gave him a map in the form of my actions
.
towards him. Fidelity, honesty, time & patience
tending like a gardener, not passive like a
scarecrow. Perhaps it was a difficult map to
.
read. My watch informed me:
your heart rate has been over 120
for the past ten minutes of inactivity
.
he pulled me into his embrace, a different
kind of argument. My Watch perceives
heartbreak. I raised my arms, wrapped them around
.
his waist. It is better to talk than be silent. I learned
that. But not after, when his head was planted on my
kneecap. I said, I don’t want to talk about it
.
the way she wept on the couch without
trembling. Something I could never
do. Eyes glancing down the hall
.
to view her dead lover again
over again and again, curled
in bed, Death under the covers
.
she found him, not even fifty-two
don’t think I didn’t wonder
about the white crust pressed into the bed sheets
.
he said, Tell me what you’re
thinking. No, I said. No words
for the tears in the ambulance
.
I was alone, coiling EKG cords
telling myself, But my lover is
not dead. Stop crying
.
snowmelt stuck to my boots like wet bread
said to the woman crossing the road,
Ma’am, I don’t think you want to go in there
.
Why?
Because it’s family business.
But we’re good family friends
.
Okay, I relented. Arguing
has never been my strength. She
could have been lying, I didn’t realize too late
.
passive transport, her body and mine
one heartbroken, another soon to be
he asks again for a glimpse of my mind
.
No, I say. No. I can’t think why
osmolarity matters. This is the
second question that’s demanded
.
an answer. What are you thinking?
I replied, voice calculated and dead
as a fallen tree across my entire body
.
I stated it in terms he would understand:
Don’t you ever ghost me like that
again. This time, he did not argue, I did not
.
yield. It is better to talk than be silent. He learned
that when I turned away, slipped on my boots,
and he feared I would never come
.
back. I didn’t find my lover dead
but at the time, I had nearly two days
of his silence consuming & warping my mind
.
some day, maybe I won’t stay
someday, maybe he will see why
loving himself has always mattered
Just Thoughts 